


Under The Influence

by leekycauldron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-War, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9779246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leekycauldron/pseuds/leekycauldron
Summary: Both Harry and Draco struggle to sleep after the war. Draco has learned to cope with this by adopting a surprisingly muggle activity - to put it shortly; cannabis. Harry finds himself spending numerous sleepless nights in the shared Eighth Year common room and Draco tends to be there as well much to Harry's disappointment. Harry also discovers that overcoming glaringly obvious differences is much easier when under the influence.





	1. Grey Area

 

“The fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice is laced with annoyance and Harry contemplates just leaving the room before deciding against it; at least having these conversations creates some kind of normality in this place that feels so foreign now. Hogwarts hasn’t been the same since they came back to sit their NEWTs after the war and sometimes Harry can’t tell if it’s because of the way the school has been rebuilt and it’s unusual or because he’s changed.

“Minding my own business, Malfoy, maybe you should try it sometime.” His eyes scanning over the empty common room as he speaks; he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to sharing a common room with people from other houses but there wasn’t enough room for the people returning to stay in their old ones. They built a whole separate group of rooms for the eleven eighth years.

“It _looks_ like you’re hovering.” Malfoy speaks, his drawl implies a sense of boredom at the conversation that Harry is completely used to but he has to bite back a retort anyway. “Tell me, do you try to make your presence so damn irritating or does it just come naturally to you?”

“Must come naturally.” Harry shrugs, feeling the slightest bit put out that the common room isn’t deserted because he quite liked the idea of sitting in front of the fire for a little while. He supposes it doesn’t matter much whether someone is here or not though, even if that someone is Draco Malfoy. And as Harry sits on the sofa, he can see Malfoy’s face properly now, the pale skin flickering in the warm orange glow of the flames.

“Oh yes, please do have a seat.” Sarcasm leaks off of Malfoy’s tongue which Harry ignores, shuffling to the end of the sofa furthest from the armchair the Slytherin is sitting in because it’s one thing to be sat in a room with him but another thing to be sat in a room close to him.

Harry can’t help but watch him out of the corner of his eye though and Harry pins it down to suspicion because the last time Harry had been alone, completely alone, with Malfoy had resulted in the blonde in the hospital wing. So much had happened since then, so much to make Harry even more wary of the man sat near him.

And so when Malfoy reaches into the pocket of his trousers, Harry instinctively curls his hand around his wand by his side as though he doesn’t trust the other to not fire a curse in his direction. But Harry sees when Malfoy pulls something small out of his pocket, a small white stick and then he uses the end of his wand to light it, a trail of smoke rolls into the air.

“I didn’t know you smoke?” Harry’s words leave his mouth without him even intending them to and the way he phrases them as almost a question makes him seem way more interested in Malfoy’s preferences than he ever could imagine to be.

“I don’t.” When Harry turns his head to look at Malfoy questioningly, there’s a smirk on his face as though Harry’s confusion is the most amusing thing in the world. “When people say that they smoke, it means they do it all the time. I do not do it all the time, far from it. Developing an addiction is extremely unappealing. And besides, this isn’t a cigarette.” Malfoy waves his hand holding the ‘not-a-cigarette’ at Harry as a gesture before taking another drag.

“Whatever it is, I don’t think this is the best place to do it.” Harry thinks this room is too cramped to be smoking and he can already taste it in the air. The scent is something he’s sure he’s smelt hundreds of times when walking through the streets of London.

“Oh give it a rest, Potter. Since when have you ever given a shit about what you should and shouldn’t do?” Harry wonders whether Malfoy is waiting for an argument, if this is his way of winding Harry up but his voice lacks that familiar hint of malice and Harry is too tired to come up with a spiteful answer.

“What is it then?”

“Weed.” Harry snorts back a laugh at the word that leaves Malfoy’s lips and he notices the way the blonde glares at him, something which appears more sinister in the dimly lit room. “What’s so funny, Potter?”

“Nothing. It’s just… that’s very, uh, muggle.” The glare intensifies and Harry doesn’t know if he’s gone too far given Malfoy’s well-known prejudices but all the other does is take yet another drag, tilting his head back as he blows the smoke into the air.

“I stole it.” That makes more sense, Harry thinks. The mental image of Draco Malfoy approaching a muggle for drugs was too good to be true. “I have the misfortune of sharing a room with Finnegan, he told me to try it once to ‘break the ice’. I said it’d make no fucking difference and it didn’t between the two of us but it was the first time I’d slept all night since we came back to this place.”

Harry nods, he doesn’t exactly know what to say in response because he thinks this the longest conversation he’s had with Malfoy where they haven’t wanted to slit each other’s throats and Harry supposes that’s because Malfoy has been mellowed out by what he’s smoking or the war; most likely a mixture of the two. “What’s it like?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never tried it?” The tone of disbelief present in Malfoy’s voice is strange to Harry, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything come from his mouth other than that drawl which consisted of either boredom or disgust. For a second, Harry was too taken aback to respond.

“Don’t sound too shocked, you obviously hadn’t until this year.” Harry thinks maybe he sounds a little too defensive and Malfoy snickers slightly at his remark.

“ _I’ve_ never shared a room with someone who has that stuff before and _I’ve_ never lived in a muggle town.” Malfoy shrugs and Harry gets his point. Harry had never really done anything that normal teenagers had done, he’d always had too much going on what with his life constantly being in danger and such. “Though Pansy did manage to sneak in some Euphoria Elixir in fifth year, that was one of the better parties.” There’s a ghost of smile of Malfoy’s face as he remembers and Harry briefly wonders if it hurts him to remember the people he lost in the war as much as Harry’s heart aches each time her remembers Sirius and Lupin and Fred and everyone else.

“Sounds like you lot had a much better time than us Gryffindors.” His slight attempt at a small chuckle is cut off by Malfoy’s scowl.

“Yeah well it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?” Harry notices that Malfoy isn’t looking at him now, he’s staring at the fire and his whole body is much tenser than it was just minutes before. “We’ve all ended up in the same shitty place and nothing that happened before makes the slightest bit of difference ‘cause most people have lost too much for any of those memories to cause anything other than pain.”

“I think maybe we just have to be grateful that we’re still alive.” Harry mutters, part of him thinking it’s time for him to get up and leave now because the peace between the two of them was bound to end sooner or later and Harry really is too tired for this.

“Easy for you to say.” Malfoy’s words are quiet but he sounds just as irritated and Harry clenches his jaw because he doesn’t understand why the other always has to appear worse off than everyone else. Malfoy was the one who chose the other side, he made those decisions himself and Harry still can’t bring himself to overlook that.

“The war was hard for us all, not just you. You have no right to sit here feeling sorry for yourself.” There’s a fire in Malfoy’s eyes and it’s not a reflection of the flames in front of him; it’s a look of pure anger at Harry’s words.

“I’m sure it was so fucking difficult for you, wasn’t it? Being the hero must have been so hard, having everyone worship you must be utterly terrible.” There’s a dark tone of sarcasm in his voice but his face remains steady, his eyes now fixed on Harry’s face and he can practically feel his gaze burning into him.

“Watching people die was hard; watching them die and knowing that I could stop it if I’d just get to him faster. There’s guilt that doesn’t go away knowing all those people died and I didn’t help them.”

“Oh Merlin, let’s all pity Potter and his precious hero complex.” Malfoy rolls his eyes, taking another puff of the joint in his hand and despite his poisonous tone, Harry notices that Malfoy’s posture is much more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him before. “You don’t know shit about guilt, Potter.”

“And you don’t know shit about doing things to save anything other than your own arse.” Harry speaks firmly. “You deserve to feel that guilt.” Harry awaits the growl of anger that would usually come from a comment such as that but all his ears are met with is a slight sigh; Harry thinks briefly that maybe Malfoy is a little too high to be properly angry right now. He doesn’t mind in the slightest because nowadays, in the aftermath of the war, Draco Malfoy is not worth the anger and frustration he causes.

  


***  


  


It's been three days since Harry’s conversation with Malfoy and it’s been three nights since Harry has dared to come into the common room late at night. He’d been too cautious of the fact that the blonde may be there again and Harry really doesn’t think it a good idea to be in such close proximity with him again for a while. Even in the hallways, Malfoy has displayed a much stronger sense of hostility towards Harry than he has before since they first arrived and Harry doesn’t feel like descending into childish habits of arguing in the corridors.

Though tonight, Harry couldn’t care less. His sleep had gotten better since he came back to Hogwarts but that doesn’t mean it’s perfect. He gets nightmares most nights and while they’re not as terrible as the ones inflicted on him by Voldemort, they’re enough to wake him in a cold sweat and a heart thudding so hard he wonders if Ron can hear it. The dormitory is stuffy, even with only two people in the room and Harry knows he’s not getting any more sleep tonight even if he tries which is why he decides to chance the common room. Besides, surely no one else will be awake at – he checks his watch – 2:45am.

A breath of relief leaves him when he reaches the bottom of the stairs to see that the room is deserted; deserted and cold which makes Harry mourn briefly for the comfort of his old Gryffindor common room – it seemed to always feel cosy no matter the time of day. And when Harry mutters ‘ _incendio_ ’ to light the fireplace, the sounds of the flames in the dead of the night cause his mind to cast back on the nights he’d spend talking to Sirius; everyone tells him that losing someone gets easier with time but it’s been 4 years and Harry wonders when it won’t hurt so much.

“Did I interrupt your little pity party?” Harry’s blood runs cold at the sneer from behind him, his body immediately tensing as he sits up straight with a quick sniff. He hadn’t been crying but he was close and Harry is certain Malfoy knows that; he’s not going to rise to it though, not tonight.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice is tired and he thinks if he sounds this tired, he can’t imagine how much of a wreck he must look. But he can’t find it in himself to care, he quite liked the idea of curling up on the sofa and sleeping until morning but that wouldn’t be possible now with Malfoy here. Malfoy who has taken it upon himself to sit in that same armchair he was in the other night.

“Minding my own business.” He shrugs and there’s a hint of a smirk on his face because he’s repeating Harry’s words from the other night and now Harry’s on the receiving end, he knows how obnoxious it sounds.

“I meant, what are you doing awake? At 3am?”

“What are _you_ doing awake at 3am?” Malfoy challenges and Harry feels his cheeks burn red because he’s not the greatest at thinking in the middle of the night and he realises how ridiculous his question is.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me too.” Malfoy shrugs and Harry wants to relax into the sofa but his body is automatically tense around the Slytherin beside him; it’s impossible to relax. He’s not used to being alone with him, he doesn’t particularly want to be alone with him because he doesn’t trust him but if he leaves now, he’ll either look suspicious or pathetic. Harry doesn’t like either of those.

“Do you come here every night?” Harry questions, watching as Malfoy pulls a joint out of his pocket and lights it. Harry wonders whether Seamus has any idea that his things are being stolen by his roommate but Harry also knows Seamus and these days, Seamus wouldn’t be quick to pick a fight with anyone even if he had reason to.

Malfoy looks like he’s thinking over a reply as he takes a drag and blows the smoke towards the fire; Harry watches as it floats up into the air before disappearing. “Most nights.” He decided against whatever sarcastic answer he was planning on giving and Harry is relieved; calm Malfoy is someone he’s definitely not used to but he’s much more manageable.

The silence is welcome to Harry; there’s nothing but the sound of the fire and the occasional deep intakes of breath as Malfoy smokes. It’s comfortable and Harry, while not completely relaxed, finds he doesn’t have to constantly be watching the blonde from the corner of his eye. He thinks maybe Malfoy is just as reluctant to get into a fight than Harry is himself. Until he speaks.

“I’m not selfish.” The voice breaks the silence and while there’s not that usual snarl in his tone, Harry knows better than to dismiss Malfoy when he’s caught up on something.

“What?”

“What you said the other night. That I don’t do anything for the sake of other people or whatever. You’re wrong.” Harry rubs his forehead with the tips of his fingers as the words resonate through his head; what the hell does he want? Harry can’t imagine a single reason why Malfoy would want to prove Harry wrong on this; why should he even care what Harry thinks?

“Just forget it; I was just angry, that’s all.” Harry’s tone is defeated and while he doesn’t necessarily mean what he’s saying, he’s trying his absolute best to not say the wrong thing.

“No, shut up.” Malfoy’s voice is sharp and insistent and Harry looks at him slightly wide-eyed as he stares back. “I need you to understand. You think you know everything because you’re Harry Potter and how could you possibly be wrong about something? You are wrong.”

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t care. I don’t know why you care so much. But just drop it.” _I need you to understand._ Why the fuck does he _need_ understanding? Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to understand why Malfoy did the things he did. Harry doesn’t think he ever wants to.

“I don’t _care_ , Potter.” He does care. Harry gotten to know him well enough over the years to know that scowl and slight flare of his nostrils means he definitely cares. “I’d just like you to know that I tried to help the people I cared about and I lost people too; a lot of people died that shouldn’t have. Just because we were on different sides doesn’t make you better.”

And Harry thinks briefly that maybe he’d be right. Maybe if the ‘different sides’ didn’t mean Malfoy had joined Voldemort, Harry could consider the fact that they aren’t so dissimilar. But they aren’t. He sighs deeply before speaking again. “You brought it on yourself, if you hadn’t joined Voldem-“

“Fuck you.”

“-what?” Harry cuts of his own sentence as he hears Malfoy’s voice in the background and he thinks he heard him right but he’s not entirely sure.

“I said fuck you.” But the voice isn’t angry and Harry notices the way his eyes are glazed over though he’s entirely sure that it’s because of the drugs and nothing else. “You have no fucking right to judge whose deaths are worth mourning or not. So fuck you.”

“So all those Death Eaters that killed innocent kids, the ones who tortured people for the fun of it didn’t deserve to die? You think they deserve a funeral with people crying and a nice little flower arrangement on their tomb?” Now it’s Harry turn to be angry and he feels rage burning inside him because of course he has the right. His friends died, people lost their families, he lost his godfather because of this fucking war and the people who caused it deserved everything that came to them.

“Some people deserve death, of course they do and they deserve to rot. We’re talking about innocents, the ones caught in the crossfire.” Lavender. Colin. Names rush through Harry’s head so fast he has to close his eyes for a second. “Because there were people on both sides that didn’t want to fight and they died anyway and you have such a one-track mind that you can’t see things in anything other than black and white. There’s more to life than good and evil, Potter. Don’t be so fucking dense.”

Harry wonders if Malfoy considers himself one of the people who deserve death; he did choose to become a Death Eater, he acted as a catalyst for this war by helping the enemy into Hogwarts. “Good and evil is the only way you can look at things when you’re in the middle of a war. There’s no grey area when someone could kill you just like that.”

“The war’s over, Potter.” Malfoy sounds thoroughly fed up by this point and honestly, Harry is getting there too. He thinks that they’re both too stubborn to ever let themselves understand the other's view. Or at least Harry is. "Everything is a grey area now."


	2. Better

It’s just the two of them again and neither has said a word for the past forty-five minutes. When Harry took his usual seat on the end of the sofa, Malfoy didn’t make any remarks tonight and Harry didn’t feel as though he had to be on his guard. It’s only the third time they’ve met this way and maybe the first two times were accidents but tonight, when Harry left his dormitory, he almost expected to see the familiar cloud of smoke billowing from the armchair. He hadn’t aimed to spend the evening with Malfoy, completely in silence but that was what happened and they both accepted that.

“What’s it like?” Harry’s words eventually cut through the silence that he’d grown far too comfortable with and Harry almost cringes at his own words because even though he’s talking quietly, it feels as though he’s shouting. Malfoy frowns slightly as though trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about before he remembers Harry asked that exact same question the first time he’d seen him smoking.

“It’s nice.” Malfoy states and Harry thinks that he might not actually want to talk tonight which he’s perfectly fine with. It’s not like they can ever talk without getting into some kind of argument anyway so Harry thinks it’s maybe a better idea to sit silently. “Relaxing.”

Harry makes a hum of acknowledgement in return, feigning tiredness because now that they’ve talked once it feels much more awkward than before and Harry thinks a yawn might show why he’s decided to cut the conversation. He’s not tired tonight, the weekend meant he could catch up on his sleep throughout the day while Ron complained about Hermione to him and tonight he thinks he’ll be up all night with how alert he feels. Perhaps Malfoy sees right through him though because he’s watching him carefully and Harry knows the blonde is more observant that he lets on.

“You want some?” And Harry can’t hide the shock from his face as he watches Malfoy’s arm reach out towards him, the joint between his fingers as he waits expectantly for Harry to take it. This is the closest to a peace offering that the two of them have ever experienced and it’s not much but it’s something. And Harry doesn’t’ think he can trust it. “Merlin Potter, it’s not like I’m asking you to fucking marry me.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” Harry mutters, his eyes averting from Malfoy as he draws his hand back and Harry can spot the beginnings of a scowl on his face. Harry wonders if they both had the same flashback in that moment, a flashback all the way to first year when Malfoy held out his hand in an offer of friendship to Harry and Harry had thrown it back in his face. He feels like this is a similar situation; Malfoy swallowing his pride and Harry rejecting him.

“Suit yourself.” And then silence falls upon them again but it’s thick and full of tension and Harry knows Malfoy is angry; he’s always been convinced the blonde has a temper problem but honestly, Harry is almost convinced he has one himself sometimes. And maybe he should feel guilty for shooting the other down like that but Harry has never been one to ignore his gut instincts and his gut instinct was to not take anything from Malfoy; no matter how much time they spend sat in the same room together without killing each other, Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever be fully prepared to trust the other.

It feels like hours before anyone speaks again, for all Harry knows it has been hours because time seems to go much faster in the dead of the night. Malfoy is standing up now, his eyes glancing at Harry briefly as though contemplating whether to say goodnight but deciding against it because they’ve never done that before and why should he start now?

“You know, Potter. People aren’t going to be able to move on from the war if people like you still hold it against people like me.” Malfoy is in the archway that leads to the dorm rooms and Harry hears the voice echo from behind him. He doesn’t even bother to turn his head as he responds.

“People like you are the reason there was a war in the first place, Malfoy.” There’s a scoff and Harry knows that Malfoy isn’t going up to bed just yet. He must have been foolish to think there wouldn’t be a conversation like this tonight and Harry feels himself standing from the sofa now, spinning to face the boy behind him. “The war was more than just Voldemort-“ Harry can’t ignore the way Malfoy visibly flinches at the name “-trying to kill me and we both know that. Everyone knows that.”

“I’m not like them.” Malfoy’s voice is low but calmer than Harry expected it to be and Harry feels that anger burning up inside him because he is like them, of course he is. And Harry can’t comprehend how someone who is only at the school this year as part of his punishment, as a way to get out of going to Azkaban for being a Death Eater because half of his crimes were committed underage, can possibly claim he’s better that the others. He’s the same.

“That mark on your arm says otherwise.” Malfoy tenses at his words, Harry can see from across the room but there’s a hint of resignation on his face, as though this isn’t worth it anymore and Harry is sure he’s never seen that on him before.

“I’m not going to justify myself to you.” His voice is dull and his turns his body, finally taking steps to leave the room. “I saved your life that night you got caught. Don’t forget that.”

And then he’s gone before Harry can even tell him that he saved his in return and that makes them even. He’s gone before Harry can tell him that no matter how much good he thinks he’s done, he’s still committed acts worse than most people would ever imagine. He’s gone before Harry’s hit with the realisation that maybe he wouldn’t mind hearing Malfoy’s justification after all because Harry knows how tired the other is, he sees it in his face and Harry wonders if maybe Malfoy can’t sleep because he’s haunted with the same nightmares Harry gets.

***

“You don’t fucking belong here!” The familiar Irish accent of Seamus Finnigan can be heard by the entire common room, the room is practically empty aside from Harry and Hermione though and they both automatically stand up as they hear a smash from up above. They exchange a glance and nothing more, they don’t need to as they both make their way up the staircase. Harry notices that Hermione has her wand ready by her side and Harry isn’t sure that’s necessary until they’re outside Seamus’s room.

“Fucking Death Eater scum. You deserve to be in Azkaban, you’re a fucking murderer.” Harry’s wand is out now, he hasn’t heard Seamus this angry before and he certainly hadn’t heard anything from him since they came back to school. He withdrew himself from the rest of them, Harry supposed it was his way of dealing with everything that happened but now he seems to be lashing out. And they exchange one more glance before the door is pushed open and Hermione gasps at the site.

“Seamus, what the hell are you doing?” She practically screams as her eyes drag over the scene in front of them. Draco on the floor, his face covered in blood and Seamus’s knuckles covered in blood as well. It’s not hard to guess what had happened. Harry sees that as soon as he hears Hermione’s voice, he’s back to normal and there’s sadness on his face that Harry has seen way too much of in the past few months. His eyes trail down to the pale blonde on the floor, his shirt unbuttoned as though he was halfway through getting dressed but now the fabric is stained red.

“I- fuck, I don’t know what happened.” Seamus mutters, taking a few steps backwards so he can sit on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. “I just- I get angry so easy lately. That’s why I don’t really leave my room. I don’t know how to control it half the time and he was just there.”

“You’re fucking mental, that’s what happened.” Draco scowls as he finally stands up and wipes his bloody face with the back of his hand. It makes no difference though, the blood is flowing freely from his bust nose and Hermione visibly cringes at the sight of such a stark colour on the almost translucent pale skin. “I’m going to shower _again_. Unless you’re planning on jumping me again when I get out, maybe a bit of pre-warning would be nice.”

Harry watches as Malfoy leaves the room before following Hermione who is now moving to sit beside Seamus, a comforting arm placed around his shoulder and Harry wonders if it’s acceptable to sit on Malfoy’s bed opposite him. Then he hears the water turn on and decides he might as well, there’s no harm.

“We get it, mate.” Harry speaks and Seamus lifts his head to glance at Harry, there’s hesitation and disbelief in his eyes. “You’re not the only one that got fucked up in the war. I can barely sleep without seeing dead people for a start and Ron- well, Ron got angry quite a lot too. But he spoke to Professor McGonagall and she helps him deal with it, right Hermione?” Hermione nods frantically and Seamus is sitting up properly.

“But you can’t just beat up your roommate whenever you fancy it, you know that. I know he’s an arse so it’s pretty tempting but it’s not going to work.” Seamus chuckles a little at Hermione’s words and Harry laughs too. He refrains from saying that if he had to sleep in a room with Draco Malfoy, he’d have done way worse than just punch him in the face. He doubts Hermione would appreciate that.

“It’s not going to happen again.” Seamus speaks finally and his voice is rough, probably from the shouting but he’s sincere and Harry knows it. “But if you could just ask Ron, maybe I can talk to him some time, yeah?”

“Yeah, mate.” Harry nods as he stands, patting his shoulder before moving to leave the room. He hears Hermione speaking quietly to him before she follows him out. And Harry can’t help but feel slightly guilty in the knowledge that he’s not the only one still struggling after all this time but it’s nice in a sick kind of way.

Hermione leaves the common room almost immediately after Harry’s sat back down on the sofa, she needs books from the library and apparently it’s the most urgent thing she’s ever had to do given the way she was rushing. Harry’s pretty certain she’s sneaking off to be with Ron somewhere but he goes along with it, a sigh leaving his lips in the silence of the common room.

“Bit early for you to be brooding alone down here, isn’t it Potter?”

“Could say the same for you.” Harry mutters, rolling his eyes because he’s spent more time with Malfoy over these past few weeks than he’d ever imagined he would and it’s the last person he’d want to spend time with.

“I’m not alone though.” Malfoy shrugs but he’s not sitting down today, he’s leaning against the fireplace in front of Harry, a smug look on his already-starting-to-bruise face. “Where’d Granger fuck off to?” Harry can’t stop his eyebrows from raising questioningly at the way Malfoy manages to say ‘Granger’ without a hint of a sneer in his tone, not even a scowl on his face.

“Ron.” Harry shrugs, looking down at the open book on the table in front of him that he’d been studying with before the interruption. “Why do you care?”

“I was going to thank her for screeching so loud that Finnigan got off me before but if she’s off fucking the weasel, I’d rather just leave it.” Harry starts to protest against the way Malfoy refers to Ron before deciding against it, it’s completely not worth it and he doesn’t think Ron would be all that bothered either anymore.

“Why’d he do it?” Harry asks, glancing up from his book and pushing his glasses quickly up his nose. “Seamus. Why’d he flip out at you like that?”

“Because he’s gone mental.” Malfoy states, pushing himself up from leaning against the stone mantel piece so he’s standing up straight. “The people that can’t handle it, the ones like him, they need to be put somewhere they can’t be near people. Need to be locked up in Mungo’s.”

“I know Seamus; he wouldn’t do something like that unprovoked.” Harry knows he sounds accusing and maybe he shouldn’t be blaming the person who just got beaten to shit but he doesn’t care. “And I know you, you’re infuriating. He’s not the one who needs locking up.”

There’s a silence in the room, Malfoy sighs deeply and he sounds completely exhausted. “Give it a rest now Potter.” The words are bored and drawling and Harry is familiar with the tone. “I’m here, I’m not in Azkaban. You need to get fucking used to it. All of you.”

“You _shouldn’t_ be here. You don’t deserve it.”

“I know!” Malfoy’s shout practically bounces off of the walls of the common room and Harry flinches at the sudden raise in volume. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, unable to form any kind of words as he stares at the blonde who’d taken a couple of steps towards him a rage. Malfoy’s eyes scan Harry’s face and there’s a mixture of anger and hurt in his eyes before he turns and exits the common room, haste in his step. The two words ring in Harry’s head long after he’s gone.

***

Guilt isn’t something Harry’s used to feeling when it comes to Draco Malfoy but that’s all he’s felt these past few days. Perhaps Malfoy is punished enough without Harry adding to it with constant reminders of his mistakes, perhaps the fact that he’s the only one completely alone in this school, the only one everyone seems to hate is enough of a punishment. On top of the fact that both his parents are in Azkaban and he has the same threat looming over his head if he doesn’t do well in this final year.

And when Harry remembers the sadness in the other’s eyes as he yelled those two words at Harry, he feels that pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach which only intensifies every time he catches a glimpse of the Slytherin in the corridors or at dinner. People are either scared of him or disgusted by him. The scared ones are the younger years, the ones who stare at the sleeve of his robes as though the Dark Mark is going to break through the fabric. Harry falls into the other category, the ones who can hardly bare the sight of him because Harry can’t believe he can even show his face here; not after everything that happened sixth year, in Harry’s eyes, it’s a disgrace.

But Harry thinks Malfoy knows that too, part of him thinks that Malfoy is completely aware he’s underserving of being back here but he took the chance anyway because anything is better than Azkaban. Which is why Harry feels guilt, guilt because despite who it is, Draco Malfoy is already suffering. It might not be enough but Harry isn’t comfortable with adding to that.

“I’m sorry.” Harry mutters two weeks later when everyone has left the common room and it’s now only the two of them left. The fire isn’t on tonight and the room is colder than usual, there’s not much light either aside from one dull lantern and the end of Malfoy’s joint.

“For what?” No anger, no malice, not even a hint of a sneer as he blows smoke into the room, clouding the already dark room. Harry thinks it’s easier to speak his mind in the darkness, when he can only just make out the outline of Malfoy’s features and he thinks that Malfoy feels the same way.

“What I said the other day. About how you shouldn’t be here.” Harry’s voice is clear and he’s speaking in a tone of voice that isn’t hostile. Not in the slightest. His realisation that he doesn’t need to actively make the other’s life harder makes it easier for him to see him as any other person, not the enemy even if it’s still in the back of his mind.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, Potter.” The tone is dismissive and he waves his hand as though it’s water under the bridge. “Heard it several times when Finnigan was smashing my face in actually.” Harry hasn’t ever heard Malfoy laugh in any circumstance other than when he was taunting people so hearing the soft chuckle at the end of sentence feels foreign to Harry and he has to force a small laugh in response.

“He was way out of line.” Harry speaks because he’d been thinking it since it happened, he doesn’t think solving problems should involve throwing fists every chance you get but he’d never thought he’d say it to Malfoy.

“Yeah well, my nose is straight again and I look just as handsome as before so no harm done.” The bitter sarcasm in his tone is strange when not directed at Harry, it’s strange when it’s meant in a humorous way because Harry never imagined Malfoy as ever having a sense of humour. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh though, he feels to tense to do anything out of the ordinary. “You need to relax, Potter. It won’t kill you to smile, y’know.”

“Says you.” He laughs again and Harry’s head feels light because this is the strangest thing he’s ever been a part of and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to it.

“Point taken. A lot easier when you’re high, though.” Malfoy muses and Harry’s eyes are adjusted to the light now. He can see the glazed look in Malfoy’s eyes but there’s amusement their too, real amusement. “You sure you don’t wanna try it?” There’s doubt in Malfoy’s tone, as though he knows the answer before it’s even been asked because Harry Potter is so fucking predictable. And Harry feels this need to prove himself, something he never imagined he’d feel in front of the person sat beside him but he puts it down to their childhood rivalry.

Harry shuffles along the sofa until he’s at the end closest to Malfoy and he can see his face much more clearly now. His eyebrows are raised and there’s a slight smirk on his face. “Just pass it here.” Harry grumbles, holding his hand out and Malfoy passes the joint to Harry who pinches it between his thumb and index finger. The smell is familiar to him, the feeling of it between his fingers is far less normal but he can feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, as though he’s expecting him to put it down. Harry doesn’t trust Malfoy, of course he doesn’t, but he’s been smoking it himself all night so there can’t be much danger and he has this insatiable need to prove the smug bastard wrong.

When he holds the joint to his lips and breathes, the smoke fills his mouth faster than he ever expected and he breathes deeply in shock. He can’t stop the coughing as soon as the smoke hits his lungs and the burning in his throat is enough to make him question why anyone chooses to do this. But he takes another drag anyway once the coughs have died down because he’s already feeling warmer which is a welcome change to the harsh cold of the common room tonight. When he passes it back to Malfoy, the other is grinning back at him before he takes a hit himself.

They carried on this way until they finished the joint and a whole other one, until Malfoy said there was none left and that Harry should ‘feel lucky he shared it with him’. And Harry doesn’t feel lucky but he feels happy, calmer than he has for as long as he can remember. His whole body feels light and they’d long since decided to light the fire so the room finally feels cosy. He thinks this is the most high he’s ever seen the boy beside him and they’ve talked for longer than he thought possible but for the first time, there’s no tension. There’s not been a single mention of the war and Harry feels more relieved than ever.

“Okay no, shush Potter, my turn.” Malfoy has also taken to sitting on the same sofa as Harry now, his legs tucked up under him as faces him. They’ve resorted to childhood games of question and answers because it’s easy to forget about the darkness that looms over them when it feels like they’re gossiping like thirteen year olds again. “Tell me… is the Weasley girl good in bed?”

Harry thinks this is the most personal questions either of them have asked yet, before it was ‘who’s your least favourite teacher and why?’ and ‘what were you guys _really_ doing in the room of requirement fifth year?’. If he wasn’t completely intoxicated right now, he’d be gaping in shock at the bluntness of the question.

“I wouldn’t know.” Harry mutters, his cheeks heating up the slightest in embarrassment because anyone would assume that they’d slept together at least once. They’d done things together, of course, but they never got that far before they broke up just a few months before.

“You’re joking?” There’s amusement and disbelief in Malfoy’s voice and Harry shakes his head, “Merlin’s beard, Potter. I never had you down as the romantic type.” He snorts a little and Harry can’t help but smile because he realises it does sound quite silly.

“Not that, just never enough time with trying to avoid getting murdered and everything.” Harry shrugs nonchalantly and Malfoy nods in a mock understanding way before they both burst out laughing. Harry realises that it’s very hard to not find everything funny when you’re high and he thinks he quite likes it. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You and Parkinson.”

“Oh, I was never dating Pansy.” Malfoy informs him and Harry thinks that they certainly acted more like a couple than he ever did with Ginny. “She’s a good fuck though, one of the better ones.” Harry’s not used to hearing such vulgar language, not even Ron speaks that way and Harry certainly is too awkward to ever speak so casually about those things. Well not when he was sober at least, right now he seems to have lost the ability to care.

“Something tells me you Slytherin lot _definitely_  had more fun than we did.” Harry muses and it’s a risky sentence because last time he said that, Malfoy had flipped out but there’s no sign of that now and Harry feels nothing other than relief.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Orgies every Wednesday and everything.” Malfoy can barely keep his face straight however at the look of shock on Harry’s face, bursting into yet another fit of laughter before speaking again. “Fucking hell, I’m joking. For being such a hero, you really are dim.”

“Fuck off.” Harry mumbles but the corners of his lips are upturned slightly at the corners as Malfoy still laughs quietly every now and then.

“Right, I’m off to bed.” Malfoy stands up as he speaks and Harry does the same, extinguishing the fire as he does so. “And you appear to be following me.”

“I need to sleep too, Malfoy, in case you’re forgetting.” There’s a sleepy huff of what Harry takes a laughter from the blonde in front him as they reach the entrance to the dorms. “Night, Malfoy.”

“Night, Potter. Tonight has been…” He hesitates as though trying to find a word that’s not too kind. “Better.”

And Harry thinks he’s right. It has been better. Better than fighting and better than sitting in awkward silence. Better.


End file.
